Wednesday, 18 April 2012

Today I don't feel so good.

The weight loss has went superb. Still got more to kill, but I'll spare you my ranting like a angst-y teenage girl (as my mother so delicately put it).

I'm not sure what is wrong.
Maybe it's the introvert in me.
It's been gorgeous outside all day. Y'know, blue skies, light breeze.
No matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to go outside.
I'm tired, bored and pretty sick of this country again.
I get waves of this in life.

I want a job. I want money. I want to escape.
I want to travel. I want to laugh, relax and enjoy life.

I'll be moving house at the end of the month. We already have the keys for the new place.
Well, I say "new" place. However, I've actually lived there before. A lot of bad memories lie in that place, due to a crappy social life (see my Turning 20 blog...) and many good ones lie here.
I've had to throw out tonnes of old clothes, videos, games, books... just a lot of my old belongings.
It's really depressing as even the clothes bring up memories of my teenage years.
The lack of pictures and photos I have from those years also hits me hard. It's upsetting not to have many keepsakes to look back on. I'm just thankful for what I have left.

I suppose I'll go out for a jog. I'm trying to cut out meals after 6.30. So it's a nice distraction.
Maybe that jog will refresh me enough to keep me sane for the rest of the evening. I may go to the beach tomorrow. I think I'll also post a blog of just images taken lately. Why the hell not? Look out for that tomorrow.

This blog post is just me whining. I'm just not having a good day.
Maybe something will pick up, soon.
G'night blog.

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Another Written Piece

Another extract from a story I was beginning to work on a month or two ago which I gave up on after one page, realising I had no drive to go along with it. I was happier with my style of writing here, so I thought I'd post this to show that I'm not quite as retarded as my last blog suggests.


  I woke up earlier than usual. 06:00 flashed repeatedly on my digital alarm clock as my eyes adjusted. The light was just beginning to crack through my dark curtains and the street lights were fading out. Slowly but surely, I focused myself.
  Most of the time I don't like waking up early. By nature, I'm a lazy person. Getting out of bed before 11am simply wasn't acceptable. What would be the purpose of waking so early every day? Surely nothing could be that urgent. I suppose it's different for me, due to my circumstances. Working in retail from noon 'til late evening gives me the benefits of sleeping in while everyone attempts to rush off to their own jobs, filling the freeway with their cars, starting their day the same way they always do. The roads in the city are crap too. Not enough room to move and too many small side streets only succeed in causing more congestion. I can't imagine how anyone who has to deal with that so early every morning on a daily basis isn't clinically depressed or doing lines of coke off their dashboard just to keep themselves going.

  Shaking the dazed feeling off, I rolled off my mattress on the floor and clambered to my feet. I had broken the base of my bed a week ago and I was starting to feel the effects of trying to sleep without it. Cheap, shoddy manufacturing never ceases to find a way to inconvenience me.
  Although I normally would be dreading leaving the house at such a time, today was different. I'd been preparing for this for weeks. 51 days to be exact. 51 days of research, gathering resources, studying the environment and mentally preparing myself. Finally, after all the work I had put in, it came down to this. The sense of joy and satisfaction is one I haven't felt in years. The only difference being that this time, there would be no one there to share my feelings with.
  Every time I think of that last part, I wonder to myself is what I'm doing really right? Is this really what I want to be doing, or are my views on society clouded by the fact that I officially have no one left to show me otherwise? The thought only lingers for a few seconds before it gets dismissed like all the previous ones. “To hell with it,” I'd say. “To hell with them all.”

  I listened to the morning news on the TV as I poured my cereal in the kitchen. Same old shit that's on every morning. This place got broken into. That person got arrested for assault. Oh, and this famous-for-fuck-all “celebrity” is going to give us an interview about having her first child. Fascinating stuff. I best switch off quick, before I officially overload myself with excitement.
  Shifting myself into the living room, I looked to the sofa to see my luggage bag zipped up and sitting neatly along it, ready to be lifted on my way out the door. I sat myself down beside it and looked out through the blinds into the street. Seems like civilisation is stirring. Each of the terrace houses across from mine had their curtains drawn or their windows open. It wouldn't be long until the usual rabble and noise pollution began. Although it's a small enough street, it connects two of the main roads, meaning there's almost always cars speeding past. When I first moved here, the constant racket kept up night after night. By the end of the second week, I had so many different types of sleeping pills and medication lying around my room, I felt like I was living in a drug den.
  As I continued to look out through the condensation, I caught the end of a news article being read out.
  “-press conference being hosted later today. We look forward to hearing your views on today's news! Back to you, Tom in the studio!” The cute blonde stared into the camera another second or two before it switched back to the newsroom where they prepared for the weather. 
  I love those moments. The awkward, frozen, fake smile they're forced to wear until the cameras stop rolling. You can just tell as soon as they're off air, that smile is gone in an instant and they're back bitching and whining about one thing or another. I realise it's just a professional thing to do, that cheesy grin, but it's really not fooling anyone.

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

Writing out of boredom.

I got bored this evening and decided to write a short "story" page on OpenOffice Writer, just to pass the time.
Story? Is that the right word? I didn't really write it as a story. It wasn't intended to be a story. Just a quick written piece, to let loose a bit of my creativity and my dark thoughts.
It's not my best work, even slightly. I didn't put much effort into it. This wasn't intended to be a chapter, or anything to come of it. I just felt the need to WRITE. It's therapeutic almost. Oh well. Enjoy, I guess.


Looking down at the cowering man below me, I could hardly contain my glee. Each blow I deliver to these wretched creatures sends a rush of adrenaline through my body and I can barely refrain from ending their pitiful lives prematurely. Focus. Don't get carried away. They must suffer for their meaningless existences. The top cats in society. The so-called “privileged”. What have they done with their time on Earth? Nothing. All they've done is look out for themselves. I could have done anything in their position. It's a shame only the few night-shift workers were left in the building.

Temporarily lost in my own thoughts, the man grabs onto my leg. Staring down at him, I take in the damage I have dealt. His lips and nose are bust open and soaked in blood. Although my well-placed boot to his skull was only a matter of seconds ago, his face had already developed a deep purple contusion and I could tell from desperate grunting that he was struggling to find his breath.
“Don't touch me, you filthy fucker!” I roared, ripping my leg away from his grasp and delivering another punt to his side, crunching his ribs as he rolled across the floor, yelping out in agony. 
Turning my attention from the broken body before me, I looked across the office for my next victim.

The office belonged to a small independent loan lender firm located in the center of the city. Run by sleazy, weak parasites used to feeding on the desperate. It's ironic how the roles have reversed and it is now they who plead for help. The d├ęcor of the office, once bland and colourless, is now splattered in the blood of it's workers.

Spotting a young Asian woman trying to take cover under a desk, I make my way towards her. Mere feet away from her, I raise the Colt .45 handgun I'd used to dispose of the building's security officers and take aim. She spots the weapon and cries out in fear, begging for her life, choking on her own tears.
As I tense my finger around the trigger, a woman bursts out from a door at the far end of the room. 
Fucker. She must have hidden away in the store when she heard the commotion. She's heading towards the front doors at speed, trying to make her escape. I watch as reaches out for the handle and pulls at it, only for it to jam. Stupid little bitch didn't consider that I'd have locked the doors behind me once the only threats were eliminated.
She spun around in horror and made eye contact with me. The fear in her eyes drove me on and without a seconds thought, I aimed across the building and fired two shots. The Asian woman, still under the table, cried out louder in horror at the sound of gunfire, as my target fell backwards against the door, her throat burst open and blood spraying out across the tile floor. One bullet had missed and exploded out the window into the high street. I damned myself for my carelessness but shrugged it off. It didn't matter any more. Through the windows, I spotted the first of many police vehicles pulling up on the road.
“Looks like my times up,” I muttered, looking back to the shaking and whimpering lady on the floor, “Do you want to leave?”
She stared up at me, her make-up stained down her face, too afraid to even stand.
“I'll give you thirty seconds,” I smiled, knowing how sadistic I must seem to this terrified wreck of a woman, “The keys I took from security are lying on the receptionists counter. Thirty seconds. If you aren't out by then, I'll end your snivelling fucking life, got it?”
With a quick kick to her side, she scuttled under from the useless protection of her table and ran the same direction of the last victim, this time picking up the keys I'd pointed out to her. I could hear her cries as she tried to still her shaking hands while unlocking the door.
I leaned against a table, amused by her attempt at escape. As the door finally opened, I raised my arm and fired the last two rounds in the clips, ripping deep into her back and sending her stumbling forward into the street before collapsing. Gullible whore.

With my weapon empty and the office filled with broken bodies and lifeless shells of it's employees, I lay down on the floor and waited for the police units to fill the building.

Today I turned the tables. Today I made society take notice of how they wasted their lives away.
As I lay listening to the doors burst open and the room fill with armed uniforms, I looked along the floor to my right and saw the man I had beaten half to death. He stared deep into my eyes, blood running from his hanging open mouth. He would be the survivor. He would be the one to tell my story.